Change in Tune
by PippinStrange
Summary: Series 3 one-shot. Charlotte Baldwin, a new ladies' maid, remembers Thomas from during the War when she was working for the Red Cross. Thomas is horrified at the potential for his exposure, but finds that Charlotte more interesting in buying his friendship than blackmailing him.


**I just finished season 2 and the Christmas special of Downton Abbey today, and this little story popped into my head. Please enjoy. Warning: VERY SHORT. Rated T for reasons. Post season 2. Season 3 drabble/one-shot. **

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><p>"This is Lord Grantham's valet, Thomas," said Mr. Carson drolly, unable to conceal his dislike for the fact that Lord Grantham had agreed to give Thomas the trusting position.<p>

"Pleasure," said Thomas, with that peculiar insincere half-smile that meant, in due time, he'd find a use for an annoyance or had just been given the means to an end.

"Please, call me Charlie," she replied. At Mr. Carson's sniff of disapproval, the new maid whirled towards him. "Everyone does."

"Well do not expect me—nor his Lordship, or anyone upstairs—to comply with something as silly as a nickname," Mr. Carson replied, disapprovingly.

"You may call me Charlotte, as may anyone else," she smiled up at the heavily eyebrowed, permanently lined face. "I daresay, Mr. Carson, don't be so unhappy with me yet. I've barely started."

"My approval is gained, not given," Mr. Carson nodded to Thomas. "He'll take your bags. You'll be sharing a room with Anna, one of the ladies maids."

"Thank-you ever so much, Mr. Carson," Charlotte heaved one of her heavy carpet bags to her hip, and watched Thomas with careful eyes as he took up her small trunk.

"This way," Thomas said stiffly, leading the way down the servants quarters.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Charlotte asked.

Thomas looked suspicious instantly, losing the pale, superior look of decorum. "I don't recall that we've ever met before, Miss Baldwin."

He opened the door to Anna's room, and placed Charlotte's trunk on her waiting bed. His gaze raked over Charlotte—not to appraise her figure as men so often did—but to try and place her.

Charlotte shut the door behind them.

"How is your hand?" she asked.

Thomas was relieved. She must have been a nurse that treated him in his pain-riddled, delirious stupor after he got himself shot on purpose to escape from the trench warfare at the front.

"It's nothing to look at," he replied evenly, "But it does work as well as the other."

"And Sergeant Ashcroft?" she asked. "How is he?"

Thomas grew more deathly white than his already ghostly tone. "It's you?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Aye, it's me, the volunteer," Charlotte replied calmly. "The one who… well… caught you."

Thomas shook his head and licked his nervous lips. "It wasn't how it looked."

"No," Charlotte sighed. "It only _looked_ like you were giving Sergeant Ashcroft a kiss… while he lay asleep and nearly on his deathbed. If you intended on breathing life into his lungs the way we do for drowning victims, it's a bit premature to do it before the Sergeant has stopped breathing, isn't it?"

Thomas was at a loss for words. He fumbled for his case of cigarettes and tried to reply, but his words kept hitching.

"Oh, calm down," Charlotte shook her head at him. "I won't give you away. I don't plan to use that information, either."

"Then… then…" Thomas stuttered, and shakily began to light a cigarette. "Then why bring it up?"

"Simple," Charlotte shrugged, reaching over to his now-lit cigarette and taking a draught from it herself. "I'd like you to know that I want to be friends."

"I don't really have friends," Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. He would never admit that Mrs. O'Brian was as close to a friend as he'd ever get.

"Now you've got one." Charlotte handed the cigarette back to him. "Now if you smoke in here, I might get into trouble. Find another place to do it."

Thomas looked down at his cigarette, and with a peevish sigh, dropped it into the pitcher and basin filled with cold water from Anna's washing that morning.

"How do I know you won't use that information to make threats or blackmail me?" Thomas asked crisply. "Because I can always deny it."

"I have no desire to make any gains by what I know about you, especially since it is a coincidence that we have the same employer two years since the day," Charlotte shrugged, opening her trunk and beginning to unpack.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm going to keep your little secret."

"I still don't trust you."

"Nor I you."

Thomas scoffed. "And you call us friends?"

"I said I _want _to be friends. There's a difference. I know that you don't trust me, but you must. Someday, maybe you shall learn something of me that could be used against me!"

Thomas smiled, mostly to himself. "And what makes you think that I wouldn't do exactly that?"

"Because when the time comes," Charlotte smiled grimly at him, "You may come down to it, and for some reason, you won't want to."

"Don't test me," Thomas raised his eyebrows. "There's a lifetime of experience against you."

"And there is not a single person in this world that isn't against you," Charlotte countered. "Think on that."

Thomas kept his self-serving smile plastered on his face, but some of the assurance disappeared from his eyes. He said, slowly, "I will think about it. _Charlie._"

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><p><strong>Told you it was short!<strong>


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